


A Fire in Your Heart

by dats__gayyy, queerio_gaymer



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, and wreaks gay havok, someone from Trevelyan's past joins the Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9750269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dats__gayyy/pseuds/dats__gayyy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerio_gaymer/pseuds/queerio_gaymer
Summary: The Inquisition is trying to find its footing, in Thedas as well as with each other. The Herald is the symbol of their movement, their guiding figure. The only problem is Trevelyan is aloof, reserved. The advisers worry about morale, while Trevelyan's only concern is getting the job done.But then, someone from Trevelyan's past turns up, and -- perhaps the advisers were wrong. Because, if the redness of her cheeks is anything to go by - Trevelyan is definitely not cold.((A slow burn fluff, and a character study. Happy Valentine's Day!))





	

* * *

 

The first hint of what was to come had come in the form of a fairly routine letter, crossing the Ambassador’s desk without fanfare. Josephine had been working into the evening hours, a warm mug of tea keeping her company, sorting out the correspondence of political parties feeling out the fledgling Inquisition as it was testing its wings. Marquis DuRellion apologizing for their earlier spat and granting the Inquisition’s claim to Haven (not that he could do much to prevent their staying, but Josephine appreciated the sentiment all the same). A thinly veiled rebuke from an Orleisian Chantry sister about raising a Fereldan army under the banner of a blasphemous idol, and a mage no less. A letter from Trevelyan’s aunt, which Josephine set aside, unopened.

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache blooming in the base of her skull at having stared at parchment from dawn to dusk, and resolved the letter in front of her would be her last of the day. Thankfully, it was only a short paragraph, and Josephine skimmed it quickly.

 

_“Inquisition: It has come to our city’s attention that the Herald of Andraste is one of Ostwick’s own, of the noble House Trevelyan. Ostwick holds great pride and hope in what the Herald symbolizes. As such, we would be honored to to aid the Inquisition with a few of our finest soldiers. Regards, Teryn Mavrhen.”_

 

It was a rather succinct letter, to come from a teyrn of the Free Marches. It read as a gesture of good faith to Josephine, and a preemptory attempt to get into the Inquisition’s good graces, likely in hope of future favors or prestige. In short, the usual game of politics. Josephine drafted a satisfactorily gracious and evasive response.

 

She paused, considering. Perhaps the Herald would prefer to write her own response? Such a personal touch may be beneficial to the Inquistion’s position. Josephine frowned. Lady Trevelyan was in the Hinterlands, and had been for two and a half weeks now. Josephine could send her a raven and the Herald could write it in her spare time. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Josephine dismissed it. In their few interactions, Josephine had gotten the impression that Lady Trevelyan…was not one for sentiment. Better for the ambassador to write her own response, than gamble on the chance that the Herald would pen something even a fraction as courteous (or at all).

 

Not that Trevelyan was untrustworthy. Quite the opposite. The mage had readily joined the Inquisition’s cause, had put herself in harm’s way despite Haven’s initial scorn. For that, she had Josephine’s respect. It was only…well, Lady Trevelyan was a tad aloof. The members of the Inquisition, few as they were, did not always get along harmoniously, but they had so far pulled together. Josephine would not go so far as to call Trevelyan cold, per se, but the mage was reserved. Josephine empathized with her, of course - the Circles had fallen into disarray, mage and Templar tensions had erupted into war, and a mysterious explosion had spared her yet left her with a mark on her hand that had nearly killed her. It was enough to break an average person.

 

But Josephine was concerned about morale. The Herald of Andraste was a symbol to their people, an inspiration to their cause. To have the Herald withdrawn and distant… Josephine worried.

 

“Give it time, Josie,” Leliana had said, when she had confessed her thoughts to the spymaster. “It is still early. If nothing changes, then we will take the appropriate measures.”

 

Josephine was not entirely reassured at such an amorphous statement (and besides, worrying came as naturally as breathing to her).

 

The soft _plip!_ of ink dripping from her quill onto her desk pulled Josephine from her thoughts. She blinked, putting down her quill and rubbing her temples with a sigh.

 

That was enough for the day. She had done what she could, and she would have to trust that Lady Trevelyan was doing, and would continue to do, the same.

 

* * *

 

It was two weeks later the the Herald’s party returned from the Hinterlands. Everyone appeared travel-worn. Cassandra’s temper, while never long-lasting, seemed frayed; Varric offered a grin but he had bags under his eyes; Solas immediately sequestered himself in his hut. Trevelyan took off for the lake, and Josephine heard second-hand that she spent the better part of an hour meditating.

 

Apparently, the brief respite was all the Herald needed (or all she would allow herself), and she met with the advisers in the war room to discuss the operations in the Hinterlands. As they all gathered around the war table, Josephine watched her carefully. There was perhaps the faintest hint of exhaustion in Trevelyan’s emerald eyes, in the slightest slouch of her shoulders, the paleness of her skin, but those were the few tells that Josephine could find. Trevelyan’s dark auburn hair was pulled back into a neat braid, her angular jaw held tight in steady determination, and when she greeted them all, her soft voice was firm.

 

Trevelyan’s eyes landed on the ambassador, and Josephine gave an awkward half-smile, caught, and her gaze skittered away.

 

“It took some time, but our mission was a success. We stabilized the region, neutralizing the threats posed by the rogue Templars and the rebel mages. As you’ve no doubt heard, we obtained horses for the Inquisition.”

 

“Well done, Herald,” Cullen interjected, smiling at the mention of the mounts. He had been eager to outfit his soldiers with them. Not only would they be sorely needed should they ever encounter heavy fighting, but the soldiers needed to train on them, preferably as soon as possible. It would take time to get them combat ready.

 

Trevelyan nodded shortly, eyes on the war map. “I wish to speak with you about securing supplies. The villagers and refugees in the area are wanting for food and proper attire, and Scout Harding had ideas for towers and fortifications we can put in the area to strengthen our position.” And there was her understated, earnest dedication - as per usual, layered under a curt demeanor.

 

“Of course,” Cullen agreed, taking the Herald’s attitude in stride, her dedication having met its match in him.

 

Trevelyan pointed to the map, moving tokens to strategic locations. Before she could go on, the door behind them opened, and a harried Inquisition soldier came in. Cullen frowned at the intrusion, looking ready to rebuke him, but the soldier spoke quickly.

 

“Milady Herald,” the soldier said, shifting from foot to foot, his eyes darting around the room. “I apologize for the interruption. The Ostwick detachment has arrived.”

 

Trevelyan’s brows furrowed, and she fixed the Inquisition soldier with a piercing stare. “The Ostwick detachment?”

 

Josephine rushed to fill her in. “In your honor as a noble of the city, Ostwick sent a small number of troops to the Inquisition.”

 

Trevelyan gave a small nod, her eyes falling to the map on the war room table. “Political posturing, I assume.” Her tone was frank, and Josephine was not sure quite what to make of it.

 

Across the table, Leliana, who was watching the Herald carefully, opened her mouth to respond. But at that moment, the door swung open.

 

“Not this time. I’m afraid this was quite out of the Teryn’s hands,” a low, feminine voice said, the words shaped by a familiar lilting accent. In walked a striking woman, dressed in well-polished armor embellished with the crest of Ostwick. She had long dark hair that hung in loose waves down her back, and sun-kissed skin from long days outdoors. Her grey eyes swept the room before they landed on Trevelyan and stayed there, a small, warm smile tugging on her lips. “Well met, Trevelyan.”

 

The Ostwick soldier bowed, and the advisers shifted their gazes back to the Herald, whose composure, in a rare turn, had slipped. Her green eyes were wide, her expression surprised. After a few beats of silence, she seemed to be aware of the three sets of eyes on her, and worked her jaw to force words to her lips.

 

“Guard-Captain.” Her voice had taken on a strange quality, rising in its usual pitch. And perhaps it was a trick of the light, but her cheeks seemed to be turning a rosy color. “It…” Trevelyan exhaled a soft breath, looking away when the woman straightened. “It is…good to see you again.”

 

The Inquisition’s advisers shared a collective look - Leliana with a smirk, Cullen’s brows knit together in bewilderment, Josephine with an attentive, curious stare. When Leliana’s eyes caught Josephine’s, the spymaster raised a knowing brow, mouthing the word, _Interesting _.__

 

Perhaps their Herald was not so aloof after all.


End file.
